


A Season for All Things

by Project0506



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian world building, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other characters tagged as they appear, Some Humor, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: The war churns on inexorably for Obi-Wan, wearing him down until his bones are brittle and sharp.  There's no end, no pause, no change, until the day a pair of Mandalorians walk up to his Commander and ask to enlist.  After, everything turns just ever so slightly off axis.Theron Shan steps out into a new Republic, less his Commander and plus his Commander's sworn brother.  Regimes change, he finds, but people don't and this galaxy has always been reluctant to learn from its mistakes.A series of one shots in a universe where History is Forced in the faces of those being forced to repeat it.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 106





	1. The Nexus

**Author's Note:**

> What is this? Who knows. I don't.
> 
> No OC major characters: Player Character(s) are all Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Fic. Set entirely during the Clone Wars, but references scenes and incidents from the game, up to partway through Iokath. I will endeavor to make sure that no knowledge of the game is required. Some knowledge of Clone Wars will be helpful.

“Can we all agree that this is a trap? Please?”

Obi-Wan rubs at his chin. This is almost assuredly a trap. “It’s a novel approach, if so,” he allows. Anakin scoffs.

“‘ _If_ ’, really _?”_ He gestures furiously at the projections. “Are we looking at the same thing?”

Torian Cadera. Theron Shan. Brothers of Clan Cadera, the last they claimed. Except as far as anyone can tell Clan Cadera died out 837 years ago. Suspiciously, the last member standing had been the clan chieftain, one _Torian_ _Cadera_. If someone was planning to use that as a cover, they didn’t get particularly creative with it.

But then again, Obi-Wan had come to understand that sudden, reappearing clans wasn’t so strange for Mandalorians, not since the last galactic war devastated them. Many of what remained _had_ actually scattered. Gone underground, stayed isolated for survival. There were more of them in hiding than anyone would probably ever know. And with their custom of spoken history, it’s not impossible that they would keep their past alive through their names.

“Force _Obi-Wan_ stop trying to make up their justifications _for_ them!” Anakin glares down any protest. “You are, I am watching it happen on your face right now.”

Obi-Wan huffs at him. “I’m only attempting to consider all angles.”

Anakin makes a disgusted noise that Obi-Wan promptly ignores.

“If this is an infiltration,” Cody says, and Anakin again scoffs ‘ _IF?’_ , “Then it’s not very subtle. And part of their story does check out,” he adds. “We checked personnel records, a Theron Shan did inquire at the Coruscant Recruitment Center and spent over an hour there trying to find some way to enlist.”

“They turned him away?” Obi-wan asks. He takes the proffered holopad.

“CRC only recruits officers, sir. Same as Alderaan and Corellia. Shan specifically looked into to be a lineman since he didn’t have officer qualifications. But the GAR gets all its linemen from Kamino.”

“Strange isn’t it?” Obi-Wan muses. “The Republic is at war, but there is no avenue for the average citizen to volunteer to defend themselves.” He holds up the holopad to one of the recordings they’d taken of their prospective volunteers.

‘ _They’re terrible,’_ the younger, Torian, complains in the recording. He speaks an archaic dialect of Mando’a with the ease of a first language.

‘ _They_ _are_ _children/your juniors/inexperienced_ _,’_ Theron corrects, with a word that doesn’t quite translate. The face and voice prints match the personnel file. Theron’s Mando’a is less natural, less precise, more practiced. It fits with the story that Theron had joined the clan late in life, married Torian’s late brother. _‘_ _You_ _ha_ _ve had twenty years of combat experience/_ _growing/improvement_ _. They_ _ha_ _ve had_ _approximate_ _18 months.’_

‘ _They’re still terrible,’_ the young man grouses. _‘Even you’re better.’_

‘ _Thanks. No really.’_

“What are the saying?”

“Disparaging the aptitude of our troops, it seems.”

“Ha!” Anakin exults. “See? _Spies!_ ”

Both Obi-Wan and Cody ignore him.

“The question becomes, nefarious or not, what do we do with them? It could be weeks before we have inter-system communications back online, and we cannot consult the council until then.”

“Dump them right back where they came from,” Anakin says immediately.

“And leave potentially malicious actors unmonitored?” Obi-Wan sighs. “We can’t arrest them, they haven’t done anything more illegal than assist in a battle, submit their IDs and try to enlist.”

Anakin glares. “Are you saying we should _let them?_ ”

“That … would be quite cruel, wouldn’t it?” Obi-Wan swallows, and refuses to meet the stare Cody directs at him. “Considering the casualty rate of our infantry.”

“Sir,” Cody snaps, an old argument. “You save as many of us as you can. You and General Skywalker both do better for the men than any other active squadron.”

But even one man lost is a man too many for Obi-Wan. An old bitterness curls in his throat, rubbed smooth with age. Anakin, for all that they’re rarely on the same wavelength anymore, understands. He grips his former master’s shoulder in solidarity.

“I’ll take them,” he decides. It’s obviously on a whim, but Obi-Wan can see him warming quickly to the idea. “If I leave them with you, you’ll be having tea and a side of flirting inside a cycle. It’s my duty as your former Padawan to protect your virtue.”

Obi-Wan sputters, and Cody turns away to try to hide his laugh.

“I’ll have Rex and R2 keep an eye on em,” he continues, getting more enthused. “And it’d be good information gathering training for Snips. And once we figure out what their plan is, then we can arrest them!”

“Anakin-” But Anakin has already decided. Obi-Wan knows they can have whatever further discussion he wants, but afterwards Anakin is just going to do what he’s planned anyway. Obi-Wan decides not to waste the energy. “Just. Remember to guard yourself. The Force is… strange around them.”

Anakin nods sharply. He’s noticed as well. Obi-Wan can only hope he minds it.

Anakin sweeps out of the briefing room without further ado, bursting in on their softly conversing, suspicious new recruits. “Alright men you’re with me. Welcome to the 501st. So you know, there’s something of a war on, so it’s going to _suck_.”

“Life sucks, General,” Theron Shan says, pushing off from the wall with a casual shrug, his tone desert dry. “And then you die. The best you can do is figure out the in-between parts.”

Obi-Wan hides a startled smile. Oh he could like this one.

Anakin’s side-eye is entirely too judgmental.


	2. Is as Named

There’s a nat-born in the mess staring sadly at his caff.

Nat-borns aren’t unheard of in the trooper’s mess. They’ll get the occasional officer, or someone from the Republic med corps come to make their planets feel a bit better about their level of war-time participation. Rarely, and even more rarely when they’re dirt-side on campaign, but it happens.

This nat-born’s wearing blacks though. _Clone_ blacks, and a Phase 2 bracer. The few early-morning troopers milling in loose knots around the mess shoot him looks but none of them approach. Rex understands, he’s also immensely curious. No doubt this was something the General was supposed to tell him when he’d gotten back from his scouting run. Also no doubt the General completely forgot.

Rex grabs two cups of caff and a tray of breakfast.

“Caff’s not rationed, sir,” he greets, sliding the second mug across the table and taking a seat. “That should be the first thing they tell everyone.”

“PFC,” the nat-born corrects. “If you can figure out which foot to put in your shoe by yourself, I guarantee I’m supposed to be sir-ing you instead.” The nat-born grabs the new cup with enthusiasm and slams it. Rex is a little alarmed: he’s pretty sure the carafe was still boiling when he poured it.

“The entire universe is a little brighter for your presence sir,” he mutters.

Rex stares at him. “Right.” A nat-born _Private First Class_? Rex hadn’t been aware a nat-born _could_ hold a rank that low in the GAR. The General has one hell of a story for Rex, apparently.

They both set about their breakfasts, Rex sneaking glances at the nat-born, the nat-born reading something on his holopad. He’s built like a soldier, that much is obvious. The blacks don’t hide much. He’s broad-shouldered but compact, muscled in a way that comes from utility not appearance. Dark hair kept short enough to not be a nuisance under a bucket, used to using a bracer as thick as the GAR standard ones: it doesn’t thunk against the tabletop the way it does with a shiny who’s been kitted for the first time. He even lays into his food like a soldier, a grim sort of efficiency wrapped in clear familiarity with the way to eat military rations without having to taste it. He’s good at multitasking too: he seems to be making just as good a progress in his reading as his meal.

Rex observes, but doesn’t see anything that addresses his curiosity. Only things that add more questions.

What are those electronics around his left eye socket for? Rex doesn’t see a data port.

He’s also doing a great job and faking indifference to Rex’s staring. Rex would have been fooled if he couldn’t see the nat-born’s fingers twitching around his utensils every time Rex angled for a better look at his implants.

Reflexes honed towards aggression, but with enough restraint that Rex doesn’t yet have the tines of a fork jammed in his hand. Rex mentally moves Mandalorian lower on the list. They don’t teach them much restraint at all.

“You could have _said_ the coffee came with a price tag,” the _nat-born PFC_ finally mutters. Rex smirks.

“Most things do,” he agrees. The nat-born drops his holopad, defeated.

“Theron Shan, of Cadera. PFC 501st. Enlisted yesterday.”

Nat-borns can _enlist_ now. The galaxy has gone right to pieces, hasn’t it?

“Captain Rex, Commander 501st,” Rex says evenly, and he’s enough of a bastard to enjoy Shan’s reaction to realizing he’s sharing a table with his commander’s commander’s commander. “Welcome aboard.”

Shan eyes him sourly. “Yeah, thanks,” he says. “Sir,” he adds, only somewhat belatedly. Rex smiles.

Not a soldier, or at least not one used a rigorous chain of command. Mandalorian creeps back higher up the list, and private security gets added as well. Rex enjoys puzzles, so long as they aren’t shooting at him

A roll of voices at the mess entrance pulls Rex’s attention, his finely tuned trouble-senses letting him know there’s going to be something for him to have to deal with before he’d even made it all the way through his yellow breakfast mush.

Of course, of course the herd barreling in is 501st. Rex doesn’t groan. He searches for Hardcase, or Fives or Echo. It’ll be one or more of them, Rex knows. This feels like the kind of morning that, somewhere too close for Rex’s liking, started with someone yelling ‘hey watch this’.

He finds all three of them, and all three are _battered._

“What is going on?” He demands, halfway to his feet. He can’t think of any rivalries between the 501st and the 212th would devolve into that kind of a fight. And with that many people: there’s a solid dozen troopers in PT gear limping their way into mess. Every one them 501st.

Hardcase sees him first. “Oh _man_ Captain, you should have _seen_ it!” He shouts. Echo and Fives look slightly less enthused, but not nearly as abashed as Rex would expect after getting caught brawling. Hardcase’s eyes drift past Rex and widen in delight.

“Cadera!” he bellows and bounces over.

As if things would disappear if he hesitated long enough, the nat-born slowly raises his head. His face is already pained and grows more when he sees the gathering group.

“I’d apologize,” he says, defeated. “But I guarantee he’s not sorry.” The troopers laugh.

“No apology necessary,” Fives assures him. “That was the single most educational beatdown I’ve ever received in my _life_.”

“He gave me pointers while he ground my face right into the mats!” Hardcase cheers. “He hits like a tank!”

Shan looks like he’s debating the general mental ability of the troopers. Rex understands; he relates. “Why didn’t you go to medical?” Rex demands.

“We did sir,” Echo chimes in. “It was an extra professional beatdown: bruises only, nothing’s even sprained. And the medics said they can’t treat stupid.”

“You fight too don’t you Cadera?” Hardcase is insisting. “Other Cadera said you’re fast and twisty but you hit like bog roll, you gonna let him get away with that? Come on, gym’s free for hours!”

“I’m really nowhere near Torian’s level,” Shan deflects with an enviable skill. Few have built up the kind of resistance it takes to deter Hardcase. Fewer still can say they have the ability to completely derail the plans of the most excitable members of the 501st and harry them into sitting and talking instead. It’s incredible, how quickly Rex’s troopers settle in and proceed to stumble over one another in haste to tell Theron Shan everything he could possibly want to know about their morning so far.

Spy, Rex decides. The General must have some _really interesting_ news for Rex.

“I was _just_ about to let the Captain know there were two of us,” Theron slips ever so casually into a natural gap in conversation. “And give him my condolences. I’m actually the _easier_ brother to deal with.”

And just like that it’s Rex’s conversation now, filled with the impressions one furious Torian Cadera had left as he’d torn through the troopers of the 501st, yelling at them to be _less awful_.

Definitely spy, Rex knows, once he’s realized he doesn’t know how long ago Theron Shan of Cadera had disappeared from the table.

This’ll be a General Skywalker _and_ Kenobi conversation, then. He’ll need more caff.


End file.
